


Of Sound Mind

by Lady_T_220



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Family, Friendship, Gen, Reading of a will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-18
Updated: 2012-03-18
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_T_220/pseuds/Lady_T_220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reading of a will and distribution of worldly goods</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sound Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme - [Original Prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=4227026#cmt4227026)  
> See [MxDP](http://mxdp.livejournal.com/)'s brilliant fanart for this story [HERE](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v735/ladyt220/moodtheme/MartinsWill.jpg)

The envelope had been innocent enough, or So Douglas had thought at first. But tucked in between the van insurance documents and birth certificate and other such important things, somehow Douglas had sort of known that it wasn't going to be anything as mundane as a misplaced piece of post. Martin had always been far too fastidious for that sort of thing. Surrounded by Martin's boxed-up belongings, Douglas had dropped down onto the bare mattress and slid his finger beneath the un-sealed flap to remove the contents.

A folded piece of lined A4 paper slid out, a yellow sticky-note paperclipped to the top. Douglas recognised Martin's handwriting immediately, squinting at the inky scrawl for a moment before finally being able to decipher the words.

_I'm sorry it's not more proper, or official-looking. I know you can get those kits from WHSmith but they're so expensive and it's just paper, really, so I hope this will do. I don't suppose anyone's going to argue about it. There's probably not much anybody wants, anyway._

Douglas blinked in confusion before opening out the folded sheet, his breath catching as he scanned the first few, jaggedly scrawled words.

_This is the Last Will and Testament of Martin J. Crieff (Captain)  
In the event of my death, I (being of sound mind) would please ask that my possessions and worldly goods be distributed as follows:_

Douglas swallowed hard, glancing quickly around the bare attic and the meagre pile of battered cardboard boxes at his feet. There was so little, he thought distantly. Barely anything at all. Even the packaging had been hauled out of a skip at the airfield. One of the boxes was for industrial refills of toilet paper.

_Whatever money I may have, divide it equally between Simon and Caitlin. I'd like for them to do something nice for the kids with it, in the way I was never able to. I know I was a fairly useless Uncle, and I know it won't be much, but it might be enough for a day out or something... Or at least a round of chips. Likewise, do something with Dad's van and the tools. Divide them up how you see fit. Or sell them. Just not the multi-meter. Throw the multi-meter into a skip. Never give it to your kids. (Or, if you do, please don't make them pretend that they're grateful.)_

Douglas inhaled sharply, an unpleasant burning sensation creeping up the back of his throat. Martin's handwriting became messier the further down the page it went and Douglas had the horrible suspicion that his hand had been shaking when he wrote it.

_To my Mum, I leave all my certificates and my pilot's licences. I know you don't like flying, and you never really understood how I could love it so much, but I hope that you can still at least look at them and be proud of me. I know I never had the kind of life you would have wanted me to have, and that I caused you endless worry even if you won't admit it, but I **was** happy, Mum. Please don't ever think otherwise._

Blinking too rapidly, Douglas fished for the handkerchief in his pocket. He blew his nose and coughed, his eyes suddenly prickly and watering. It was the dust, he thought. Ten years of accumulated attic dust. It would be enough to make anyone off-colour. 

_To my friend and colleague, Arthur Shappey, I leave all my flight manuals and my model planes. Some of them aren't made very well, but I hope you can enjoy them regardless. If the wings fall off the Hurricane again, don't worry. Just wedge a bit of blu-tac in the hole and squeeze them back on. It's what I usually do._

A glance revealed the tangled heap of plastic Airfix kits, knotted up with the string that had held them suspended from the ceiling. Most of them were crudely, childishly painted, all broad strokes and wonky transfers. The work of an isolated, misunderstood little boy and Douglas had laughed the first time he had seen them.

_To my feared and respected employer, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey: I would leave you my log-books but I expect you've probably already run off with them. You're more likely to need them than I will. I know I should probably return my uniform but, I hope you don't mind, I'd like to be cremated in it. I never wanted to be on the ground, let alone in it, so rather than leave you something useless you probably don't want or need, I'd like to ask of you a very big favour instead. Would you, maybe... scatter me? I know it's a lot to ask of someone but you don't have to do anything big. Just pop me in the air-brake housing or down the flaps whenever you happen to take Gertie out next and just-- Let me fly?_

Douglas wiped roughly at his face. "Oh, Martin," he muttered. "You stupid, sentimental bastard..."

_Finally I suppose, for my First Officer- my best friend -Douglas Richardson: Douglas, I want you to have my Captain's epaulets. And my hat. You deserve them, far more than I ever did. By all rights they should have been yours from the start. More than anything I wish I could repay you for everything you've taught me, and tell you how much it's meant to have you there, ready to pick up the bits when I invariably end up dropping them. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you. So just, thank you. You were the best, most-awful mentor a terrible pilot like me could ever have wished for. And I hope that now I'm gone you get to be the Captain you were always destined to be. Just try not to crash Gertie. At least not while I'm still in the air-brakes, anyway._

Douglas huffed out a wet-sounding laugh, flipping the page over to check there was nothing else on the back. There wasn't, the paper blank except for the yellow sticky note and Douglas sat staring it at for a very long time. The empty flat was bleakly cold and silent, the students long since vacated after the end of term and Douglas suppressed a shiver. Ten years Martin had lived here, and Douglas had never appreciated how very lonely it was. 

A creak of footsteps on the stairs jolted him out of his thoughts and Douglas hastily scrambled to dry his face, quickly re-folding the sheet of paper and stuffing it back in the envelope before jamming it once more into place between insurance policies.

Douglas swallowed hard, clearing his throat as he straightened his shirt, affecting an air of calm indifference before turning to face the figure just rounding the doorway.

"Oh, there you are," Martin said. "I thought for a minute I'd lost you, I was waiting for you out by the van." A flash of worry passed over his face. "You're not having second thoughts or anything, are you?"

"No... no, of course not," Douglas managed. 

Martin narrowed his gaze. "Are you alright?" he said, suspiciously. "Your eyes have gone all red."

"Fine. Fine!" Douglas coughed again, though this time mostly for show. "It's the dust you know. Got held up by a terrible attack of the sneezes."

Martin raised one eyebrow, disbelievingly. "Right... In which case we should probably move these boxes before things get stirred up even more."

"Indeed so, Captain," Douglas said. "Though there was one more thing."

"Oh?"

Douglas nodded, crossing the narrow expense of threadbare carpet to cup Martin's cheek carefully in the soft hollow of his palm. Douglas looked at him thoughtfully for a second before leaning down and kissing him, slowly, warmly, a tender press of lips dipping close time and time again, sipping intimately at Martin's mouth. 

When Douglas finally eased back Martin was flushed pink with happiness, eyes sparkling and glazed, lips gently swollen in a way that would've usually had Douglas herding him urgently towards the bed. This time however he settled for leaning close, inhaling the warm, slightly musky scent at the collar of Martin's shirt before whispering hotly in his his ear.

"You know, Captain Martin Richardson, né Crieff, the wings keep falling off your Hurricane because they're on upside-down?"


End file.
